


By Someone Who Knows How

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Sweet Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9844799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: Another writing challenge fic, this prompt was Dean and First Kiss.The reader doesn't think kissing is all that great, Dean is out to prove her wrong.Also on tumblr @butiaintgonnaloveem





	

Music plays softly on the speakers, interrupted on occasion by one of the boys recounting details about the case you just finished. Your eyes droop from boredom as endless rows of cornfields blur by outside. Another monster dead, another road trip home across three states. 

“God, I wish we could just teleport. Did either of you ever ask why we didn’t get that power? We should totally have that,” you mumble from the backseat.

Sam huffs out a small chuckle, while Dean acts affronted, “And miss out on all this quality time with my Baby? Pass.”

“I’m bored. We should play a game or something.”

“This isn’t exactly the time or place for strip poker, sweetheart,” Dean grins into the rearview mirror. You scoff, but can’t help the blush burning at the apples of your cheeks. You know he throws that endearment around, but it still gets to you, making your stomach flutter when he tosses it your way. You swallow it down to continue on.

“Okay, whatever. Tell me a story then, please? I can’t read or nap anymore.” 

“Count the farmhouses or something, I dunno.”

“But Dean,” you lean forward to hang your head over the front seat, lips pushed out in a pout, eyes welling up with crocodile tears.

“No! No, you stop that right now, Y/n!” 

Sam just chuckles at your antics, knowing that his brother will give in to your pouting like he always does. You push the tears from your eyes, letting them roll down your cheeks. Fake crying proved to be a fairly useful skill from time to time.

Dean side-eyes you, rolling his jaw in aggravation. “Alright, fine!” He playfully shoves your face back with his palm. From there it becomes a free-for-all, divulging embarrassing stories and teasing one another while the hours and the miles fly by.

“...And that’s where that scar comes from,” Dean finishes with a smile. 

Your stomach and cheeks hurt from laughter. In the front seat, Sam shakes his head, waving a hand while he tries to control his own fit. That’s when you see it - a fresh, red, love bite on his neck.

“Oh Sammy,” you hum, “Can you tell me where this little scar came from?” You wiggle your finger beneath his hair, fingering at the mark. He flinches to push you away, while Dean cranes his neck to the side to see what you are talking about.

“Yeah, Sammy, how’d last night go for you?” Dean asks with a slap on Sam’s shoulder. After you finished cleaning up from the case, the three of you celebrated at a small bar in town. You and Dean had left Sam behind before the end of the night. He barely managed a goodbye as he was already wrapped up with a pretty brunette. 

He nervously clears his throat, “It was good. Nice.”

You share a look with Dean in the rearview mirror.

“Good? Nice? You didn’t seal the deal, did you?” you ask as a smirk tilts your lips.

Sam rolls his eyes and tightens his jaw before stammering, “Well, no. But, you know, I don’t need to sleep my way through Small Town, USA. There’s nothing wrong with just spending time with a person and kissing, it can be just as...pleasurable.”

His words hang in the silence a while. You can’t help but look over at Dean. His face scrunched up in thought until he slowly nods, relaxing the lines above his brow.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You nod, wait for him to finish, to lay into Sam as only a big brother could, teasing him for not bedding a girl that would have likely jumped at the chance. But he doesn’t. You jolt forward in the seat, once again jutting your head between theirs.

“Wait, what? That’s it? You just agree with him like that?” You snap your fingers.

Dean nods.

“What? Who are you? That poor girl,” you grumble and sit back.

“Hey,” Sam starts, turning to give you a stern look, “She was very satisfied.”

“Okay,” you lift you hands up, giving up the argument.

“You know what? No, why am I getting singled out when neither of you managed to find any friends for the night?” His fingers curl in the air as quotation marks at the word friends.

Dean’s eyes go wide as he gives his brother a death stare. Sam flicks his eyebrows up, and you lean your head back and close your eyes, having long ago given up on trying to follow along with their silent conversations. You hear the tell-tale sounds of them slapping at each other while they grunt out half-words and hushed whispers. Dean lifts his hand giving the sign that he’s had enough and clears his throat, eyeing you in the mirror again.

“So, let me get this straight? Does every hook-up end in sex for you?” Dean questions. 

You feel your throat tighten up. You’d always been able to joke with them about this stuff, but you’d never really discussed details, especially about your own adventures. 

“Well, I mean, you know I don’t really do that a lot,” you start to ramble, voice raspy with nerves, “But um yeah, isn’t that the best part? Kissing is just...the sloppy lead-up.” You cross your arms, uncomfortable under the spotlight, particularly under Dean’s gaze. You see his tongue flick out to lick his lips while he puts together his thoughts.

“Sloppy lead-up? Damn, that’s cold.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “So, you really would just skip all that good stuff to get to the finale?”

“Well, I don’t jump on every dick I come across if that’s what you’re getting at -”

“Whoa, whoa, we know that, Y/n,” Sam jumps in, trying to smooth things out. “I think what Dean was trying to ask was why you’re opposed to a good, old-fashioned make-out session?” 

You twist your head to look at Dean. He has a troubled expression on his face, but nods in agreement.

“You guys are totally serious about this? Sam?”

“What? Yeah,” he pauses, pushing his hair back, “I mean, it’s intimate, and did you know that your lips are more sensitive than your fingertips. I mean, there's so much to it. Your brain releases dopamine, your adrenaline pushes through you, your blood pumps faster. It’s a full-body experience…” He trails off, almost sheepishly.

Your jaw drops and your eyebrows pop up in disbelief. Dean is giving him a look of surprise, but doesn’t seem as put-off by it as you are.

“Well, thanks for the bio refresher professor, but, no. Kissing’s not that great.”

“Why not?” Dean pushes.

You huff in frustration. “Of all the things you could be doing, that’s what you would want to spend time on?”

His lips kick up in a lazy smile. “Not counting the obvious, it’s my favorite sexual activity,” he finishes with a smack of his lips.

A choking noise escapes your throat, “Sure, because I believe that Dean Winchester’s favorite thing to do is play tonsil hockey.”

“Sweetheart, there are more places to kiss than just someone’s lips,” he winks, accompanied by a small, smug nod. You inhale a shaky breath at his implication, your stomach churning with the thought of his lips trailing over your curves. You shake away the thought before the daydream can take over, scratching at your neck nervously, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

“Food?” 

The simple word launches the brothers into an argument over where to stop, giving you an opportunity to settle your flushed skin.

 

Two days later, you’re settled back into your routine at the bunker. You wander into the kitchen, the smell of coffee luring you in. Dean is sitting at the table, reading over a Men of Letters file. You had no idea he was even aware of your presence until he spoke up.

“So, who did you wrong?”

“Excuse me?” you ask, blowing on the steaming hot liquid as you twist to face him.

“Who ruined it for you?”

“Dean,” you slump your shoulders, “It’s too early for this. Ruined what?”

“Kissing.”

Your head rolls back with a groan, “Ugh, you’re still on this?”

He turns halfway in his seat to face you. “Well, yeah. I wanna know why you’re so opposed to it.”

“I’m not opposed to it,” you sneer, “It’s just never been good. Like, whatever Sam was talking about, with that whole butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of feeling.”

“Not even your first kiss?”

You splutter and start to choke on the coffee you started sipping. “Oh, my god no.” Dean’s mouth pops open slightly, letting his lips form a slight “O” shape, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. You can’t help the smile that pulls at your cheeks, a terrible nervous habit of yours. “I, uh, I almost bit his tongue off.”

You hear Dean’s mouth snap shut, a look of alarm in his eyes.

“What?” You giggle, “He shoved it in there. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t mean it, it was kind of instinct.”

“Noted,” he says with a nod, pulling his coffee cup to his lips. He slurps it a little, and your own tongue subconsciously follows his actions when he flicks it out to lick at the tiny droplets stuck to his top lip. But then he’s talking again and your eyes go wide as you try to catch up. “But that can’t be it, I mean one bad apple and all,” he shrugs.

“I don’t know, it’s just never been that good. Doesn’t get my engine going. All that stuff. Plus, if you think about it, it’s kinda gross. Like, I don’t want to taste someone else’s food. And then you think about if their mouth is clean, or if your mouth is clean-” He looks at you in disbelief, and you let out a heavy sigh setting your cup down on the counter, using one hand to count on your other. “Fine, let’s see: There was a guy that poked his tongue in my mouth like he was playing whack-a-mole, umm, there was one guy with a particularly slimy mouth, ummm, and another guy that kissed with his teeth. Should I continue?” 

He doesn’t answer because he’s bent over with laughter.

“Dean!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He wheezes, then sits up to properly catch his breath. “You weren’t kidding. But, you know, I think you’re overthinking it.”

“Why do you care? You know, not everyone can be as orally gifted as you are,” you snap before you can stop yourself. For a moment, the only sounds come from the low hum of the refrigerator. Your eyes dart around to look at anything but Dean. He sits there breathing heavily, a few short hums of thought escape his throat, but he remains silent otherwise. “Okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything else as you grab your coffee and disappear back to your room.

That night, Sam draws you into the library having caught some news for a possible new case. You sneak hesitant glances at Dean, still feeling flustered from your reaction in the kitchen. You think you catch him staring at you once or twice, but no one speaks more than to ask a question or to pass another file around. 

One particular book keeps your interest for a while, giving you some insight into the possible monster you’ll be facing. The research reads like a novel, and you hunch yourself over the book, pen still in hand while you absentmindedly rub the capped end over your bottom lip, the plastic cap getting shiny from your chapstick as you smear it back and forth.

Dean draws in a loud, labored breath, breaking your concentration and making you look up at him, startled by the sudden noise. You and Sam both look at him expectantly.

“Hey, uh, we got any floss?” 

You feel your expression drop in your confusion.

“Yeeahhh. Check by my toothbrush holder.”

He nods, looking around at the library. “Great. Let’s hit the sack so we can burn rubber early tomorrow.”

Sam sits up straight to stretch, popping his joints and groaning. “Yeah, alright. Not a bad idea.”

You nod in agreement and start helping Sam organize the piles of books and paperwork around you, but don’t miss Dean bounding away down the hall. 

“Night, Sammy.” You pat him on the shoulder a few minutes later, the library now somewhat in order. He nods and takes off to his room, leaving you to shuffle down the hall to yours. Your eyes are glued to the floor as you follow the familiar path to your room, the only difference this time is your path is blocked by Dean. Moving your gaze much faster than you’d like, your eyes trail up from his boots to his legs, his jeans just tugging at the shape of his strong thighs, to his open button-down shirt, pulled to the side by his hands tucked into his pockets. Your tongue darts out to subconsciously wet your lips.

“Hey, Dean, you find the floss?” Your voice squeaks out, unusually high.

“I did, thanks. Feelin’ minty fresh.” He bares his teeth to you in a wide smile.

“That’s good.” It hangs in the air like a question, you’ve never exactly discussed dental hygiene routines before. “Umm, well, good night, then, I guess.” You move to skim between him and the wall, but he steps in front of you. His arm bent behind his head to scratch at his neck.

“Yeah, hey, can we..can I talk to you for a minute?” You gently nod in affirmation and he pivots away to let you pass. You know he’s behind you but still glance back to check, and see him shaking out his hands while he follows you to your room. You walk in and perch yourself at the end of your bed, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“About earlier -”

“No, Dean, please. I really don’t want to talk about that anymore. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal over it and at this point, it’s really just embarrassing for me, okay.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says as he slowly advances toward you. “I just, I've been thinking, and I just want you to hear me out. Can you do that for me?”

Your cheeks are already flushed red which you try to rub away with your palms. “Is it that the problem is probably me?”

“No.” He wraps his hands around your wrists, gently pulling them away from your face, and he’s kneeling in front of you. “I want you to stop thinking for a minute and listen. It's - I just don’t think anyone has ever taken the time to kiss you right.” You arms go limp in your lap, still held in his warm palms. He lifts one to his cheek, his eyes locked on yours. Your fingertips lightly graze the short layer of stubble there, making your eyes flick down to where they rest. It’s when he turns his face and presses a soft kiss to the palm of your hand, that you gasp, the realization of what’s happening hitting you. 

He murmurs against your skin, “They didn’t pay attention to how soft you are,” he nuzzles against your palm, placing your other hand on his shoulder, and pauses, pushing out a nervous breath. Your own chest feels constricted, your breaths are short and tight, and your hand on his shoulder grips into his shirt, the other reaching to scratch your fingertips along his hairline. His eyelids flutter open again to meet yours and he pulls himself closer to you.

“They didn’t bother noticing how gorgeous you are when you get all worked up,” he whispers, leaning in to breathe along your neck, placing tender kisses along your sensitive skin. Your eyes roll back and your head begins to spin, your breathing shallow and shuddering. Thighs spreading open you allow him to settle between them. Your cheeks flush to an even darker shade of pink, while your arms tense around him, not pulling him in, but still holding on tight.

“They didn’t bother to take their time. To kiss you everywhere you deserve to be kissed. To make you feel so fucking good. Because that’s what it’s about.” He punctuates each statement with another kiss, each one moving up from your neck, to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands ghost along your skin until his fingers tangle in your hair, palms cradling you just behind your ears.

Finally, his lips rest in front of yours and you can smell the mint from his toothpaste on his breath. Tiny quakes of nerves make your body shiver, and your lips tingle with the anticipation of finally feeling his against yours.

“Y/n?” He breathes out shakily.

“I won't bite,” you purr.

You’ve barely gotten the words out when he settles his lips against yours. It’s chaste, patient, just lips pressed against each others. He slightly pulls away and presses them against you again, and again, gentle soft kisses drawing you to respond to him in kind. Your heads tilt naturally to the side, giving you room to breathe - to pull your bodies together even more.

You part your lips, taking his bottom one between them, lightly sucking and releasing it, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. You feel his grip tighten while his chest heaves against yours. Your back arches, your body wanting to go limp in his arms. You feel his tongue stroke at the seam of your lips and you whimper, muscles squirming at the warm feelings rushing throughout your skin.

You part your lips slightly, the tips of your tongues meeting and you shiver as the remnants of the spearmint mouthwash hits your tastebuds. A sudden realization rushes to your consciousness, breaking the trance as your earlier conversation replays in your mind.

“Dean, did you?” you start to whisper against him. 

“Mmhmm,” he hums in response, shushing you before you can finish your thought. 

Your mouth opens for more as you drag your fingertips through the soft hair at the back of his head. He grunts and begins to massage and swirl his tongue along yours. Gentle, but dominant, pulling away every few minutes to gently nip at your lips and let the two of you catch your breath.

Your body burns with heat, just on the verge of breaking into a sweat, your stomach quivers as you continue to kiss, head dizzy with the rush of it all. Your nipples harden beneath your shirt as Dean presses against you, a persistent ache between your thighs begging for attention. 

“Dean,” you pull away, a dopey smile on your kids-stained lips.

“Mmhmm baby?”

You sigh at the tenderness of the question. “Butterflies,” you tell him, your lip pulled between your teeth.

His whole face breaks out in a smile, eyes soft with small crinkles at the corners. “Good, cause I'm just getting started.”


End file.
